


Let Me Photograph You in This Light

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Boys In Love, First Time, M/M, Pining, Top Nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s back in England and Nick’s back to wanting him all over again.  It’s a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Photograph You in This Light

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Written for the BBTP: 2016 Challenge on Insanejournal.
> 
> Inspired by press reports of Harry looking for property in Bath.

_Let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time_  
_that we might be exactly like we were before we realized._  
_We were sad of getting old, it made us restless._  
_It was just like a movie. It was just like a song._

*

His hair’s shorter now and he seems bereft, lips tugging downwards in a pout when he pushes long fingers through the length. Nick gets that, he really does. He’s seen the press make their snide comments about his own haircut and he’s laughed it off – just a bit too long, just a little too loud.

“Looks good.”

“Yours too.” Harry’s smiling now, wide, all teeth and cheekbones. That, at least is familiar. That fucking average face and the blinding smile which floors Nick even after all this time. He’s always been so easy for Harry. He swore he wouldn’t do this again, but here he is. Bath, of all places. One call from Harry asking Nick to help him view some ridiculous houses and Nick’s packed up his Louis Vuitton, hopped on the train and left the dogs with Emily for the weekend. He texts Harry from the train and all it takes is a couple of terrible jokes, a lack of emojis (Harry) far too many prawns and aubergines (Nick) and Nick’s back on familiar ground. Familiar ground that currently involves sitting in a pub drinking cheap booze and reminding himself why it’s a really stupid idea to fall for a straight popstar and one of his best mates.

Bath’s quaint and Nick doesn’t really do quaint. He does loud raves and messy dinners with too much food and vodka. He does Hackney bars with ironic hipster cocktails served in jam jars. He’s fond of a red carpet or two - award shows, fashion shows and trendy art exhibitions which make him feel like he’s right on the cutting edge of the London scene. He’s not into quiet pubs off cobbled streets with a special on the guest ale. Except that Harry’s sitting opposite him, working his hand through his hair again and frowning as if the loss of length is an unwelcome surprise. If Harry’s there, Nick’s into it. Always has been. Inconvenient, really.

“Give over. I look like a tennis ball.” Nick snorts and rubs his hair, pulling a face. He drains the wine from his glass and nudges it in Harry’s direction. “Your round, popstar.”

Harry smiles again and Nick’s heart does an inconvenient flutter. His chest’s always too tight around Harry; his heart too fast. “Let’s get the pink stuff. Remember?”

“Yeah.” Sweet, wine-drunk lips and Nick’s hand on Harry’s chest, pushing him away. “I remember.”

“Do you think it would’ve been different? If you’d let me?” Harry blinks at Nick, still smiling. His voice is slow and smooth like treacle.

“Doubt it. You’d have left me for a Kardashian. Broken my heart.” Nick clutches his chest dramatically. As if his heart isn’t still in tatters; as if it didn’t break anyway. 

“Wouldn’t.” Harry frowns, serious and so, so young. What’s he doing in Bath, of all places? Nick wants to tell him to go back to L.A., shag some fit models. As long as he remembers to text Nick on birthdays and at Christmas, Nick would be fine with that. Much better than imagining Harold like some kind of Downton Abbey extra in a sprawling country estate with no one to fill the empty rooms. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

“’Course.” Nick’s tired of being in love with Harry. It fades away, he fucks someone he’s not all that interested in and he thinks he’s over it. Then Harry comes back and it’s all aching hearts and nights with Pig and Stinky curled against him, listening to power ballads and songs about dying lovers. Bloody Harry. “’Course we had fun.”

“I always though so.” Harry orders at the bar and returns triumphant, deep pink wine in hand. “Blossom Hill.”

“The greatest wine on earth.” Nick opens it up and pours them both generous glasses. “Oooh, screw top. Fancy. Proper little celebrity, these days.”

“Just want to treat you nice.” Harry leans forward, long fingers dancing on Nick’s for a second. “Cost me seven pound fifty, that did. You owe me. I’m saving for a house.”

“None of that, Harold.” Nick pulls his hand away and takes a steadying gulp of his wine. “You’re a shameless flirt.”

“Yeah,” Harry says and they laugh.

Just a bit too long. Just a little too loud.

*

They’re giggling by the time they get back to the hotel and it’s like an old, familiar blanket. Harry’s hand on Nick’s arm, his scent familiar and rich. They stumble up the stairs and do a terrible job of shushing one another as the stairs creak beneath their clumsy feet. Not for the first time, Nick wonders why Harry insisted on booking two shitty pub rooms instead of a posh hotel with round the clock room service.

“Coming in?” Nick says. He brandishes two bottles, holding them aloft. He doesn’t know why he’s asking. They both know Harry’s not sleeping alone unless he has to.

“You’re pissed, mate.” 

“You too.” Nick steps aside and bangs his knee off an inconveniently located table. God, he really is pissed. He puts the bottles somewhere safe and turns to Harry. He’s too close. Close enough to kiss, not that Nick thinks about kissing Harry these days. He’s over it. Really.

“Got a bottle opener?” Harry’s breath is warm and sweet. He really is too close.

“No need. Screw top, remember?” Nick waves his hand. He’s fond of a big gesture and it lets him move away from Harry.

Harry steps closer. “Do you reckon you’d let me now?”

“What?” Nick’s voice comes out in a squeak and he clears his throat in an effort to sound more masculine. He’s got this under control. It’s fine. “Don’t the girls fancy you anymore, Harold?” He runs his hand through Harry’s hair and it feels _good_ under his fingers. A laugh escapes him and it sounds sharp-edged and slightly manic. “Like Samson.”

“Samson?” Harry’s eyes dance and his lips curve into a half smile. “You’re mental.”

“Got his hair cut and he lost all his power, didn’t he?” God, Nick needs to stop talking. Anytime now would be good. “Can’t you pull anymore, is that it?”

Harry’s forehead furrows and he gives Nick that look that makes him feel like his brain’s going to slide out of his ears. “I can still pull.”

“’Course you can. Fit popstar like you. Excellent bone structure.” Nick decides to run his fingers over Harry’s cheek, just to check for himself. He lingers too long, his thumb brushing over Harry’s lip and neither of them are laughing anymore. The room’s heavy with breathing, the faint scent of cheap wine and _Harry_. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Harry grins, then. He knows he’s got Nick cornered and he crowds forward until they’re bumping into walls and their lips press together in a hot, wet kiss. It’s not like the last time – when Harry was inexperienced enough that Nick could get him a glass of water and tell him to go to bed. This time, Harry knows what he’s doing. He’s taller and he’s able to push close to Nick, kissing him like a man who hasn’t had an awful lot of sex for his young years. Nick’s really helpless against it. Sort of. Besides, Harry’s lips feel good against his own. Firm and searching, hot, open-mouthed and filthy.

“You’re a menace, Styles.” Nick’s not going to let Harry kiss him into submission because that’s not how Nick does things. Instead he shoves his hands into Harry’s hair and walks them backwards, pressing Harry against the nearest wall and kissing him soundly. He licks into Harry’s mouth, his breath rough and ragged and mingling with Harry’s own. He thinks he can hear Harry whimper over the sound of the _thud-thud_ of his heart and the sound goes straight to his cock. Blood courses through his body, his kisses harder now and more urgent. He gives it his all. If this is the only chance he’s going to get, he’s going to show Harry what it’s like to be kissed when someone’s mad about you. He’s going to let Harry _see_.

“Wanted this…so long.” Harry’s words almost go unnoticed, disappearing into the relentless kisses. Almost, but not quite. Nick nudges Harry back, long finger on Harry’s chest. He looks good after being thoroughly kissed. His lips are plump, slick and kiss-bitten. 

“What?” 

Harry pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs Nick closer. “You. I’ve wanted it for ages, you must’ve known.”

“I most certainly did _not_.” Nick stares at Harry. His cheeks flush and he looks sheepish.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nick raises his eyebrows at Harry. He really is a menace. Nick hates him a bit. Not really, but things would probably be easier if he did. “You’re _straight_ , Harold.”

“Am not.” Harry rubs his forehead. “I thought you knew. I’ve been pretty obvious about it.”

“How on earth have you been obvious about it?”

Harry shrugs. “The interviews. I told you about that bloke I thought was fit on Bake Off. I kept pointing out people I thought you might fancy.”

“I thought you were trying to help me pull,” Nick says.

“Like you needed any help.” Harry looks disgruntled. “Plus, I flirted with you all the time.”

“You flirt with everyone all the time.” Nick rolls his eyes. “It’s part of your popstar charm. Making people adore you, breaking their hearts.”

Harry looks confused and he shakes his head. “No I don’t. I don’t break hearts.”

Nick turns his eyes heavenward. “No?”

“Nick…” Harry’s voice is rough and broken. He presses closer, his palm on Nick’s heart as if he wants to check it’s still working. “Nick?”

“So this Bath thing. Is it, like, permanent?”

“I…don’t know.” Harry’s face scrunches up, like he’s confused.

“Right.” Nick knows Harry and he knows what it’s like to be twenty-something. He’s seen Harry move on from person to person, from place to place. He’s seen him on yachts and kissing Taylor Swift at midnight. He’s seen Harry curled up next to him, warm and sleepy after an eleven hour flight from L.A. These days he mostly sees Harry in the papers, short-haired and squinting at the barrel of a camera lens. He’s been in Bath for all of five minutes and he knows Harry’s not going to stick around to set up a home with two dogs and Nick. “So what is it, then?”

“It’s for now.” Harry sounds unsure, his hands moving over Nick’s torso and his fingers working at Nick’s shirt. “It’s for now,” he repeats. His voice falters and he brushes his lips to Nick’s neck. “ _Please_.”

“Alright.” Nick’s not sure it is. Not sure this is going to stop his heart from breaking all over again. Not sure how long Harry’s _for now_ ’s going to be. It’s going to hurt so much more when Harry leaves again after he’s had this, but he’s tired of fighting it. He’s tired of pretending it’s _just friends_ when he can hardly remember a time he didn’t want Harry. “That’ll do.”

Nick lets Harry get on the bed and he rummages in his suitcase, retrieving lube and condoms. He puts them on the bedside table and kicks off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt. It’s silk and there’s no way he’s getting jizz on it. 

“You came prepared.” Harry sounds amused.

“Thought I might pull a fit lad and take him home with me.” Nick grins at Harry and the pounding of his heart eases a little. This is Harry. It’s sex. Nick’s good at this. He can do this. 

“Did you?” Harry palms his dick through his trousers, looking smug.

“Nah.” Nick discards his shirt and moves between Harry’s legs, pushing them open and knocking his hand out of the way. “I picked up a Z-list celebrity. Some reality TV star. He looks like a troll.”

“He does not.” Harry sounds delighted and he wraps his hand around the back of Nick’s neck, pulling him down. “He doesn’t.”

“No, darling. He’s a little bit nicer than a troll.” He really is. If Harry’s gorgeous when he’s sleep-warm and curled up next to Nick, he’s even more so like this. He’s hard and pushing insistently against Nick, biting back a groan when Nick tugs his jeans and pushes them open.

“Fuck, let me…” Harry’s all flailing limbs and really Nick’s not sure why he’s surprised. He half expected Harry to be smoother than this, which is ridiculous now he thinks about it. Harry’s a ridiculous boy and he’s all legs, arms and cock. God, what a cock. Nick’s practically salivating as he palms the hard length of Harry and moves down his body to tug off his jeans properly so he can get a better view.

“Are you after summat, love?”

“Want to blow you.” Harry leans up to help Nick slide off his trousers and then pulls his t-shirt over his head so he’s just in his underpants and socks, which Nick helpfully takes off for him. He can’t shag an international superstar while he’s wearing socks. It would completely ruin his wanking fantasies. 

“Go on, then.” Nick tugs off his own jeans and pulls Harry over him, biting back a groan as he wriggles over Nick’s cock. A thought occurs to him and he rubs his thumb against Harry’s cheek. “You’ve done this before, yeah?”

“Sex?” Harry rolls his eyes, his words muffled as he buries his nose in Nick’s chest hair and mouths his way down to his belly button. “Once or twice.”

“Not what I mean.” Nick gives Harry’s hair a little tug and it elicits a ragged moan which is _very_ interesting.

“Blowjobs, handjobs…never been fucked.” Harry’s mouthing around Nick’s cock now, making the material of Nick’s underpants damp with his eager mouth. “You feel incredible, by the way.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Nick keeps up the pressure on Harry’s hair and bites back a groan of his own when Harry finally gets his pants down and his hand around Nick’s cock, his tongue working over the slit. “Come on, Harold. I’m not a lollipop.”

“Piss off, Grim.” With a snort, Harry tugs off Nick’s pants completely and then _oh_. His mouth is truly sinful and he knows how to use it in more ways than one. He takes Nick slowly into the wet, tight heat of his mouth and works his tongue over the length of Nick’s prick. He looks up as he attempts to deep throat Nick, his eyes slightly hazy and his lips slick and shiny with saliva. God, Nick wants to ruin him. He wants to wreck Harry’s voice until he’s huskier than usual, asking questions about his mansion with the memory of Nick’s cock in his mouth fresh on his mind and lingering on every question.

“That’s it.” It’s a wild understatement. It’s more than it. It’s everything. Harry’s hair just the right length to hold onto, to tug and yank on as Nick manoeuvres Harry over his cock. Harry’s eyes watching Nick when he can, wild and dark. Harry’s lips stretched around Nick and his throat working in the effort to please him – to make it good for him. He’s always been such a good boy and Nick tells him so, a rough murmur which sends a shudder of pleasure through Harry’s body. “Come on, love. Back up here.”

“Why? Is it okay?” Harry pulls off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks uncertain, watching Nick as if Nick’s words could take him apart now. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Nick reaches for Harry and kisses him, slow and steady. He rolls Harry onto his back and nibbles at his neck until little mewls of pleasure fall from Harry’s lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just want to fuck you, that’s all.”

“ _Oh_ , yeah you should definitely do that.” Harry’s voice is slow and croakier than usual and Nick _loves_ it. He’s so gone for Harry. So gone it almost hurts to kiss him, to stare into his eyes and watch him fall apart under Nick’s touch. “Will you finger me? I thought about that. Thought about that so much.”

Well, that’s news. “I’ll finger you.” Nick's tempted to make some self-deprecating comment about Harry thinking about little old him but the way Harry looks at him takes his breath away. It’s like Nick’s just hung the moon for him. He’s got that half-with-it look which Nick recognises and he knows that it’s not the time to make stupid jokes about himself. “I’ve got you, love. Let me take care of you, yeah?” Nick whispers in Harry’s ear, firm and filthy low. 

“Oh fuck…yeah, please.” Harry’s eyes are glassier now than ever, his body rocking as if seeking some kind of friction. Nick palms lightly over Harry’s cock and then he slicks his fingers, getting them nice and wet and pushing Harry’s legs apart. If he was less selfish he’d tell Harry to get on his hands and knees and make it a bit easier for him, but Nick’s not going to fuck Harry without seeing his face when he comes. He wants to see every last twist and turn of Harry’s face so he can keep it with him for the rest of his life.

“You like this.” Nick doesn’t mean to sound as surprised as he does when Harry arches off the bed and nearly kicks him in the balls when he slides a slow finger into Harry. “As in, really like it.”

“It’s a-a-alright.” Harry gasps out his words when Nick slides another finger next to the first and his expression flirts between half pouting, half horny and desperate. Nick can’t help but get closer to Harry’s cock, because it really is beautiful – ridiculous tattoos aside. He loves the feel of a hard cock on his tongue, sliding down his throat. He’s good at giving blow jobs. He’s good at using his fingers and his mouth to bring pretty boys over the edge until they’re shouting his name over and over. With a smirk which doesn’t go entirely unnoticed by Harry, Nick takes Harry into his mouth. He runs his tongue over the slit of Harry’s cock and then sucks him down, fucking him slowly with his fingers until Harry’s writhing and clutching the sheets. His leg kicks out again, all a-flail and his words are low and croaky when he forces them out. “Fuck me, come on. Come on.”

“Impatient.” Nick sounds smug, largely because he is. He’s smug and so in love it makes his head spin. Harry’s stretched out, legs apart and giving him that slow bloody blink. His eyes are glazed and his lips parted, jagged breaths falling from them into the still room. Nick has to kiss him. He can’t not. He’s aching hard and ready for his first decent shag in ages but all he wants to do is shove his fingers into Harry Styles’ ridiculous hair and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow. Harry parts his lips when Nick crawls up his body, licking into his mouth and panting out Nick’s name against his lips. It’s too much. It’s-

“Perfect, innit?” Harry smiles against Nick’s lips and kisses him breathless all over again.

“It’s alright.” Nick repeats Harry’s earlier words, smiling back against Harry’s eager lips. He allows himself a moment of taking in the way Harry’s tongue moves against his own and the way Harry pulls him closer until he’s ready to let himself sink, down, down, down. He pushes into Harry as quickly as he can and pulls out slowly, moving in again with another hard snap of his hips.

Harry’s eyes widen and flutter closed, ridiculous boy that he is. He’s got a dopey smile on his face and Nick is far too charmed by it. It’s so like him to give a boy a good fucking and lose his traitorous heart in the process. Nick takes Harry slow and hard, speeding up when Harry begins wriggling and bucking against him. Harry’s fingers tug at Nick’s hair and they’re kissing again – a glorious, filthy thing. He wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and slides over his length, rubbing his thumb over the tip as Harry falters beneath him.

“I’m going to…”

“Yeah, that’s it, darling.” Nick’s so close and then Harry’s coming in his hand, thick, warm and sticky. Nick’s gone for him. He’s so gone for him he has to bite his bottom lip so he doesn’t lose his air of not very cool and start confessing his undying. Harry’s so warm, tight and pliant and he looks so thoroughly shagged out, Nick wants to do stupid things like kiss his nose and promise to bake him bread every day. He shakes his head and closes his eyes against the assault of Harry’s face and wide-eyed encouragement. He bites a desperate path down Harry’s neck and knows he’ll have to give away one of his best scarves tomorrow so the press don’t catch sight of the marks he wants to leave on Harry’s skin.

“Nick…”

And that’s it. Nick’s name, from Harry’s lips. Nick’s name off the back of an orgasm in that slow, still-croaky voice. Nick’s name spoken like a question with a reverence he’s sure he never expected. He’s coming inside Harry and it’s mind-blowing. It’s brilliant. It’s _everything_.

When he’s finished, he slips out of Harry and ties off the condom. He manages to find a bin next to the bed and drops it there, staring at the ceiling and listening to Harry breathe beside him.

“Nick?”

“Just catching my breath. We’re not all fit young things like you, Harold.” When did Nick’s voice become this broken, faltering thing? When did a fantastic shag make hot tears prick at the back of his eyes. His chest is so tight and when Harry grips his hand he squeezes back, clinging on for dear life as if he’s going to wake up alone. 

“Nick? Seriously. You okay?” Harry noses at Nick’s neck, already sounding sleepy. “Was good, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was good.” Nick turns and captures Harry’s lips in a slow kiss. He lifts his arm and Harry comes willingly, octopus-like limbs wrapping around Nick until it’s hot and uncomfortable. Hot, uncomfortable and perfect. “You’re not going to leave are you?” He has to ask. Harry knows why. He knows Nick inside out. Better now than before. Now he’s seen glimpses of Nick’s heart.

“’Course not. We’ve got houses to see in the morning.” Harry smiles against Nick’s skin. “Can we do it again? Later?”

“Whenever you want,” Nick says.

He closes his eyes and swallows back the words on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t tell Harry that _don’t leave_ doesn’t actually mean _don’t leave me alone tonight_. He breathes out, a slow exhale. 

It’s for now, Harry said. Nick can do for now. 

Really, he can.

_~Fin~_


End file.
